


i fall, i falter

by killproof



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Galaxy Garrison, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Idiots in Love, Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Making Out, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pre-Canon, Trans Keith (Voltron), Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, mlm author, more like friends to enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-10-08 04:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killproof/pseuds/killproof
Summary: “You’re Shirogane, right?” He asks, tilting his head with a curious look in his warm eyes. Keith nods, eyebrows furrowing.“That’s what this says, yeah.” He replies, reaching up to fiddle with his nameplate, the cool metal almost a relief on his skin that suddenly feels overheated in Álvarez’s presence.“No, I mean, you’retheShirogane. Keith Shirogane?” Álvarez says, looking at Keith expectantly.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> haha. s8 who
> 
> anyway here's this monster of a piece. thank you to ericawrites and keithkin for helping me edit

Keith’s first semester at Galaxy Garrison is going...rough, in a word.

It’s the third time this week that he’s gotten in a fight. He’s smart enough to make sure he doesn’t get caught by now─though a lot of it was borne more from not wanting to disappoint Shiro more than wanting a clean record.

He glares into the mirror of his dorm sector’s communal bathroom, battered knuckles clutching the sink, and wipes at the blood slowly dripping from his nose. It doesn’t do much other than stain the fresh white cuff of his uniform, and he resigns himself to just letting the blood fall into the sink.

His head drops, bangs hanging in front of his face as he stares blankly down at the drain, watching the droplets of red fall against the white porcelain, splattering the sides pink where they hit residual drops of water. As used to the aftermath of fights he is at this point, he still feels...stupid. Weak. He’d made too many mistakes─firstly, letting the other cadets get to him with nothing but snide comments, and secondly, getting distracted enough to let Griffin’s fist catch against his nose. The sickening crunch that had resulted, along with the ruby-red blood staining his teeth and sleeve, felt like proof that he was exactly what his teacher before the Garrison thought he was: a troublemaking orphan who wasn’t worth the chance Shiro wanted to give him.

 _Shiro should’ve listened to me when I told him I didn’t belong here,_ he thinks bitterly, the coppery taste of blood hanging onto his tongue as he white-knuckles the edges of the sink, glaring at his reflection.

“Oh─ _shit,_ are you okay?”

Keith’s head jerks up, wide eyes meeting the wide-eyed stare of another cadet. The boy’s nameplate gleams under the bare-bulb fluorescent lights in the bathroom, his surname─ _ÁLVAREZ_ ─neatly engraved into the metal. If Keith’s memory serves correctly, they're in a couple of the same classes. He remembers seeing Álvarez hanging out with that engineer a lot─Tauaalo, he thinks. Álvarez seems to know just about everybody, though. Keith sees him everywhere, talking to everyone, gesturing wildly and grinning wide and crooked. One of those people who everyone likes, who doesn’t need to try to make friends. One of those people Keith has never been, and never could be.

That pleasant expression Keith remembers is wiped clean off his face as he gapes at Keith, and Keith suddenly realizes how bad this looks. Both nostrils streaming red, smeared over his mouth and uniform sleeve, staining the white basin of the bathroom sink. He can feel the blood dripping over his lips and seeping onto his teeth, and Álvarez is still staring at him, wide-eyed.

“M’fine,” he rasps, wiping his nose on his sleeve again, staining red on the stiff polyester. Fuck it, he's gonna have to wash this anyway. Might as well get some use out of it instead of letting the blood drip down his face and make him look like a murderer.

“You don't _look_ fine,” Álvarez shoots back, genius that he is. His gaze drifts over Keith’s features, a worried crease folding between his brows as he looks over the spots Keith knows bruises are probably blooming purple against his skin.

He reaches forward suddenly, and Keith startles, stepping back. Álvarez doesn't seem fazed, just rolls his eyes and curls a hand around Keith’s wrist, pulling him closer. He grabs some paper towels from the dispenser and crumples them up in his hand, soaking them in the sink, then turns back to Keith with a determined look on his face.

“Hold still, idiot.” He says, and then his hands are on Keith’s face, steadying him as Álvarez cleans up the bloody mess he'd managed to make of himself. Keith stays still more out of surprise than anything else, staring at Álvarez shell-shocked as he continues to clean up the dried blood as if it's a perfectly normal thing to do for a stranger. Álvarez’s eyebrows furrow for a moment, and he swipes the pad of his thumb along Keith’s cupid bow, bringing a patch of stubbornly dried down blood with it. Keith freezes, face going hot, and his breath stutters in his throat.

“There,” Álvarez says after what feels like eons, stepping back and tossing the balled-up paper towels into the trash. “All done.”

Keith blinks, coming back to reality slowly, and wonders if Álvarez can hear his heartbeat with how loudly it's thundering against his ribcage. _Why did you do that?_ He wants to say, among other things. _Are you a swimmer, is that why you smell like chlorine? Why are you being nice to me? Did you know you have really cute freckles?_

“Uh, thank you.” He says instead of any of that, because what isn't just socially unacceptable is completely mortifying, and if he said any of it out loud he'd be forced to drop out and tell Shiro that he couldn't finish his classes because he embarrassed himself in front of a boy. 

Álvarez nods, smiling, and gives Keith a firm pat on the shoulder. “No problem,” he says easily, stepping back out of Keith’s personal space. It feels like a loss, almost; like a warm spot left behind from skin-to-skin touch. “You’re Shirogane, right?” He asks, tilting his head with a curious look in his warm eyes. Keith nods, eyebrows furrowing.

“That’s what this says, yeah.” He replies, reaching up to fiddle with his nameplate, the cool metal almost a relief on his skin that suddenly feels overheated in Álvarez’s presence.

“No, I mean, you’re _the_ Shirogane. Keith Shirogane?” Álvarez says, looking at Keith expectantly. It’s startling to hear him say Keith’s name, despite it being a pretty commonplace thing for people to say to him, and despite Álvarez having had his hands on Keith’s face barely a minute ago.

“Yes?” Keith says hesitantly. “Uh─sorry, how do you know my name?” Álvarez scoffs, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Keith might’ve worried that he was actually mad, but he knows enough about Álvarez to tell that he’s playing it up to be dramatic.

Not that Keith has been watching him.  


(Maybe he’s been watching him.)

 

“Typical,” Álvarez mutters. “Top of the class and I bet you don’t even check the rankings.” He says, and Keith’s flushes red because, well─Álvarez is pretty on the nose with that one. He checks his grades, and that’s about it. He doesn’t see a point in comparing himself to other people when it tends to make him miserable more often than it doesn’t.

“Rankings don’t matter, anyway,” he says, frowning. “And that doesn’t explain how you recognized me.” Álvarez rolls his eyes.

“Hard not to recognize the _‘best pilot of his generation’,”_ he drawls with a blatantly mocking tone on the last part, his expression wholly unimpressed. “Personally, I’ve never seen anyone else with a mullet.” Keith's eyebrows furrow, one hand coming up to fiddle with the hair at the back of his neck, but before he can say anything in response the bell rings. Álvarez glances back towards the door, where the sound is emanating from the hallway, then looks back to Keith.

“Guess I'll catch ya later, mullet.” He says, smirking. He gives Keith a wink and a two-fingered salute, and then he's gone, the bathroom door swinging shut behind him.

“Catch you later.” Keith echoes back to the empty bathroom.

 

✦

 

Things shift distinctly, after that.

He sees Álvarez around more, gets little waves and acknowledging nods each time their eyes catch on each other. Something in him cools down, his impulsivity soothed enough for the number of fights he gets into to significantly lessen. He doesn't spend his weekends nursing bruises or bloody noses anymore, checks rankings every so often. Álvarez sticks like glue to the top five, but Keith sees his own spot drop every so often, usually following spikes of depression or months where the Garrison nurses give him a dirty look when he says he’s in the med bay for his testosterone shot.

He starts to notice things more─notices how Álvarez prods him more than usual in the simulators when his spot drops, how he catches Álvarez looking at him with something that seems almost like worry. Keith tries a little harder, claws his way back to the top, glows when he sees the wide grin on Álvarez’s face after he checks the rankings. Notices how _Shirogane, Keith_ and _Álvarez, Leandro_ swap places more and more often between the number one and number two spots.

Álvarez’s first name tastes like honey on his tongue when Keith says it out loud the first time. It feels strange─Keith knows barely any of his classmates’ first names, given that most cadets are referred to by surnames in class and by most other people, and the information is strangely intimate. _Leandro_ is sugar-sweet in his mouth in the silence of his dorm room, whispered like a hymn into the darkness while his roommate snores in the bunk above him.

It feels like something safe, solid.

Something to hold on to.

 

✦

 

Keith feels more stable by the time their second year starts. Shiro would probably say it’s because he’s finally taking his advice, but in Keith’s opinion, it’s probably because Griffin finally lost interest in making his life a living hell. Keith still catches him giving him dirty looks every time they cross paths, but he'll take that over the alternative any day.

“Hey, Shirogane!” A familiar voice shouts from down the hall, and Keith turns to see Álvarez waving at him wildly, a ridiculously huge grin on his face as he jogs up to Keith. Tauaalo trails behind him, looking a bit embarrassed at the attention Álvarez is attracting from the other cadets littered down the hall.

Tauaalo is still wearing that bright orange headband Keith remembers him having all through their first year, but his hair is longer, less spiky. He’s still hard to miss; Keith had him as an engineer for a couple of the simulator runs last year, and he’d been one of the more competent of the engineers. Among a bunch of largely inexperienced first years, that was pretty memorable.

“Hey,” Keith says once Álvarez and Tauaalo catch up to him, hands shoved into his pockets. “Done with class?” Álvarez smirks.

“Trying to memorize my schedule, huh?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “Stalker.”

“You wish.” Keith replies easily, rolling his eyes.

He'd long since adjusted to the teasing banter that interactions with Álvarez entailed, let friendly, bickering remarks flow a little freer. Shiro would complain about raising Keith to be more polite if he overheard any of it, but Keith would rather die than mention Álvarez to him in the first place. Not with the way Álvarez is constantly mooning over _Takashi Shirogane, the Galaxy Garrison Golden Boy._ He probably has posters in his dorm. Shiro doesn't need the ego boost, and Keith doesn't need anyone bothering him about what it's like to have Shiro as family.

(Fucking boring, is what it is. Keith and Adam both agree that Shiro is a much bigger dork than legend makes him out to be.)

“Uh, not to interrupt this...touchingly strange moment,” Tauaalo pipes up, bringing Keith back to the present. “But didn't you guys, like, hate each other last year?”

“We’re _rivals.”_ Álvarez insists. “We don't hate each other, it's just competition.”

Keith blinks, surprised. “Rivals?” He echoes, raising his eyebrows. “Seriously?

“Uh, _yes_ seriously.” Álvarez says incredulously. “Y’know, pilots! Top two ranks! Neck and neck!” Keith presses his lips together, tamping down a smile.

“I'm pretty sure you're the only one who thinks that.”

“He’s got a point,” Tauaalo mumbles.

“Oh my god!” Álvarez exclaims, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Is there _no_ loyalty?”

“I mean,” Tauaalo says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck and nervously avoiding eye contact with either of the other cadets. “No one really checks ranks that aren’t their own.”

“They totally do!” Álvarez insists, sounding legitimately offended. Keith muffles a laugh into his hand.  

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Álvarez.” He says, grinning. Álvarez’s eyebrows spring up at that, and he gives Keith an incredulous sort of look.

“Wow. First you deny our epic and _totally real_ rivalry, now this.” He says, shaking his head. “You can stop using my last name, dude.”

Keith blinks, surprised, and for a moment his carefully steeled facade of indifference falls; he knows Álvarez catches it within the seconds before he puts himself back together, sees the soft look of surprise in his eyes, but he responds before Álvarez can say anything of it.

“Alright then, Leandro.” He says, trying for teasing, but the words come out too soft, too fond. If Álvarez notices, he doesn’t show it─just lets his lips spread into a wide, satisfied grin.

“Actually,” he says, eyes sparkling, “The name’s Lance.”

 

✦

 

Here's the thing.

Keith knows he's gay. He has since he started his first year and caught himself staring at the other male cadets a _little_ too often to be considered strictly heterosexual. So, that much considered, it's not exactly surprising that when a host of cadets enter third year taller, sharp-jawed, and annoyingly straight, Keith gets, uh…

Distracted.

The shock comes when _Lance_ is one of those distractions.

Maybe it's not _that_ much of a shock. Keith had spent a good part of the last two years zoning out staring at his freckles, sure, but it was more because he’d have to have been _blind_ not to notice that Lance was at least objectively attractive. He had never jumped out at Keith like _‘hey, I'm a boy and I'm pretty! Look at me!’_ the way some of the other cadets did. Not until this year, at least.

Even if Keith didn’t recognize that Lance gotten hotter on his own, Lance _himself_ wouldn’t have let him miss it. He’s been preening every since he got back from summer break about growing a good few inches, which, honestly? Keith did _not_ need more of his attention brought to that. He and Lance had been about eye level last year, barring the inch or so Keith had on him, and now that Lance is a couple inches taller he absolutely _refuses_ to let it go. On top of that, his freckles had darkened from his time back in the sun at home, his skin deepened golden-brown and hair curling around his ears where it had grown out just the slightest bit.

Hunk definitely notices the way Keith’s gaze starts to linger, even if Lance doesn't seem to. Thankfully, he doesn't seem weirded out by it, but he still gives Keith these _significant looks_ every time he catches him. ‘ _Significant looks’_ meaning whenever he catches Keith’s eye after he’s zoned out watching Lance’s dimples puckering his cheeks when he laughs, he raises his eyebrows, inclines his head, and levels him with a look that says _‘I see what’s happening here, and I respect that you want to bone my friend.’_

  


“I think you should just tell him,” Hunk says, unprompted, one day at lunch while Lance is away tutoring some first year cadets. Keith feels his cheeks go hot and he glares down at his plate, stabbing at his pasta a little more fiercely than strictly necessary.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, words clipped.

“He wouldn’t be mean, or like, _weird_ about it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Hunk continues, casual as ever, as if Keith isn’t shutting down his _‘subtle’_ push, as if he hasn’t been doing so the whole semester. “I mean, it’d probably give him an ego boost he doesn’t need, but it’s a better idea than staring at him all wistfully like a Victorian novel protagonist.”

Keith’s face twists into a frown. “I’m not Jane Eyre.” He mumbles.

“No, actually, I think you’re more like Catherine Earnshaw.” Hunk muses, popping a baby carrot into his mouth. “You know that _not_ repressing your emotions is an option, right dude?”

 _“Yes,”_ Keith snaps, scowling. “I’m not repressing, there’s nothing to tell him.”

Hunk raises his eyebrows, silently doubtful. “Whatever you say, dude. Your crush is getting kind of─”

“Ooh, Keith has a crush?” Lance’s voice suddenly pipes up from behind him.

Keith nearly jumps out of his skin, fork clattering against the steel lunch tray with an annoyingly loud clanging sound. Keith quickly fumbles for it before it can fall on the floor, clutching it in his fist and turning to glare at Lance from over his shoulder.

“No!” He insists through gritted teeth, the same time as Hunk says _‘duh’_ from across the table. Lance’s eyebrows spring up, glancing between the two of them.

“Uh, I'm gettin’ some major mixed signals here.” He says, grinning in apparent amusement at Keith’s frustration. He nudges Keith aside on the cafeteria bench, plopping himself down next to him and propping his chin up on his hand, smiling at him delightedly. “Sooo...who is it? Gimme the hot goss, mullet.”

“No one,” Keith grits out, scowling. “Because I don't _have_ a crush.”

“Aww, c’mon,” Lance says, batting his eyelashes dramatically. “You trust Hunk but you don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust either of you, actually.” Keith says, stabbing at his lunch again with his hastily-recovered fork.

“Harsh,” Hunk says, shaking his head gravely. “But I respect your honesty.”

“Keeeith,” Lance whines, sticking out his bottom lip in an overdramatic pout. “Don’t you like me enough?” He drapes himself over Keith, one arm tossed over his shoulder, batting his eyelashes at him.

Keith flushes red, heart pounding against his ribcage with the sudden proximity. He can feel Hunk’s gaze boring through his skull, feels Lance’s touch burning through his uniform like fucking _acid,_ but he musters an eyeroll and pushes Lance back out of his personal space, hoping that he actually seems unaffected.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. If Lance notices the flush on his cheeks, he doesn’t mention it, just laughs.

He quickly moves on, turns back to Hunk and starts babbling about some pretty girl in his aerospace class. Hunk glances back at Keith out of the corner of his eye every so often, obviously checking up on him, and as nice as the gesture is, Keith feels a little too babied to actually appreciate it.

He frowns down at his lunch tray, eyebrows furrowed as he turns over what Lance had said in his head. _‘Don’t you like me enough?’_ Definitely a joke, given how he’d grinned and batted his eyes. He probably didn’t even think about it.

 _I_ do _like you, idiot,_ he thinks bitterly. _I like you way too much._

 

✦

 

Keith isn’t one for zoning out during class, but physics has been easy lately, and...to be frank,  Professor Walsh’s voice is monotonous as fuck and he is _so_ fucking tired today.

“Psst, Keith.”

Keith startles out of his reverie, yanked back to reality at the sound of his name. It's kind of a rare sound these days, seeing as everyone but Shiro opts for calling him Shirogane.

Or─everyone but Shiro and _Lance,_ apparently.

Keith blinks at him in surprise for a few moments, but Lance just grins back like calling him Keith is completely normal. His eyes glint warm brown under the classroom lights, crinkled up at the edges with his smile, and Keith feels his cheeks flush pink.

“What?” He whispers back, plastering on a small frown.

“You going to Sheffield’s party this weekend?” Lance asks. It seems like dialogue that belongs in a shitty high school movie, not something Keith thought he'd ever actually hear, but Lance seems like he’s serious.

“No,” he says, frowning deeper. “I didn't even know he was having one. Plus, Sheffield’s kind of an asshole.” Lance rolls his eyes.

“Duh, Sheffield _sucks._ But he's the only one who ever has booze.” He says, as if it's completely obvious. “You should come.” Keith wrinkles his nose in distaste, fiddling idly with his pencil.

“Parties aren't really my thing.” He says.

“Booo,” Lance teases, still under his breath so Professor Walsh doesn't notice they're talking through her lecture. “You just don't wanna admit you're boring.” Keith snorts, barely muffling a laugh.

“Álvarez, Shirogane.” Professor Walsh speaks up, jerking Keith’s attention back to the front of the room. She has one eyebrow arched, giving the two of them an unamused look. “Quiet in the back, please.”

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles, face flushing in embarrassment while Lance remorselessly laughs at him behind his hand, which does absolutely nothing to muffle the sound of it.

“Won’t happen again.” Lance promises, flashing the professor a winning smile. She looks unconvinced, but turns back to the board, continuing her (extremely boring) lecture.

It takes approximately five seconds for Lance to scrawl something out on his notebook and slides it towards Keith, obviously trying his best to seem like he’s paying attention to whatever problem the professor is writing out on the board. Keith rolls his eyes, then glances down at the corner of the notebook with Lance’s handwriting in bright blue gel pen.

_so what’s the verdict?_

Keith clicks his pen open and writes down _fine i guess_ under Lance’s blocky lettering, nudging the notebook back towards him and looking to the front of the room. Less than a minute later, the metal spiral hits his elbow and he looks down to see a truly excessive amount of hearts and exclamation points under his reply. Lance even added a crude replication of a kissy-face emoji, which makes the corner of Keith’s lips twitch up into a smile.

 _just tell me when and where it is dumbass,_ he writes back, scrawling out a knife next to Lance’s shaky kissy-face. Lance’s eyes catch his when he slides the notebook back, and Lance flashes him a grin he usually reserves for his infatuation of the week. Keith’s heartbeat stutters in his chest, and he quickly looks back to the board, shoving down the butterflies that are crawling up from his stomach.

The bell rings a few seconds later, and Keith rushes to shove his notebook back into his bag, shrugging the strap onto his shoulder and priming himself to get the fuck out of there. Lance grabs his arm on the way out the door, leaning down slightly and putting himself close enough to Keith’s face to make him feel a little like he’s about to die (which, let’s face it, doesn’t have to be that close given his Jupiter-sized crush on him).

“Party’s at ten tonight, in Sheffield’s dorm.” Lance says, his touch burning through Keith’s uniform. “Be there or be square.” He throws Keith a wink, and, having effectively given him a heart attack, lets go of his arm and turns away, walking down the hall.

Keith ends the day feeling a lot gayer than he did that morning.

 

✦

 

Sheffield’s party, unexpectedly, isn't total shit.

Keith was a bit doubtful already when Lance said it was in a _dorm,_ but Sheffield is rich enough and self-aggrandizing enough to have a pretty expansive space. The music thrums in the floorboards under Keith’s feet, idle chatter buzzing in the groups around him. It’s honestly surprising how many people turned up, given how annoying Sheffield is─but Lance is probably right that he’s the only one with alcohol, and Keith is too smart to underestimate exhausted teens’ desire to get absolutely wasted.

Despite his reputation as Shiro’s protégé and a serious, emotionless fighter pilot, Keith is definitely one of those exhausted teens. Admittedly, he’s been sheltered by Shiro’s squeaky-clean parenting, but that doesn’t stop him from making a beeline for the drinks table. If he’s gonna have to endure the noise and general annoyance of a teenage party, he’s not gonna do it sober.

Keith is about three shitty, juice-diluted drinks in when he hears his name shouted over the music and turns to see Lance making his way through the crowd, grinning broadly and waving. He practically crashes into Keith, throwing his arms around his shoulders and jostling his cup, which thankfully doesn’t spill anything.

“Keith!” He exclaims, and by the way his cheeks are flushed dark pink Keith can tell he’s probably already had a couple cups of the spiked punch. “You came!”

“Um, yeah,” Keith mumbles dizzily, trying to focus on the conversation rather than the flecks of amber in Lance’s dark brown eyes.

Lance keeps talking, he thinks, but Keith’s head feels heavy, hazy from the alcohol─or at least, the watered-down teenage party equivalent of it─and his vision tunnels without permission. He focuses instead on Lance’s thick eyelashes and dark, shining eyes, cheeks flushed and aching with a wide grin. He can see his freckles more clearly like this; the blush spread over his face accentuates even the faded spots, brings out the ones dappled over the bridge of his nose.

“You’re not in uniform!” Lance says just as excitedly, thankfully pulling back, though his hands stay firmly on Keith’s shoulders.

“Yes?” Keith says, confused. “Was I supposed to be?”

“No, I just thought you would be boring and wear it anyway.” Lance says, beaming as he flattens his hands down Keith’s chest, surveying his outfit. The slow drag of his eyes down Keith’s body makes his heartbeat stutter out of pace, and he prays to every god he remembers the name of that Lance can’t feel it where his palm is splayed over his chest. “Sick jacket.” He decides after a long moment.

“Uh, thanks.” Keith says, eyes darting down to quickly take in Lance’s clothing. “I like your shirt.” Lance absolutely _beams,_ finally taking his hands off Keith and setting his hands on his hips.

“Thanks!” He says, then, almost conspiratorially, leans in. “Also, sorry for inviting you. This party kinda sucks.” Keith thinks for a second, taking a quick look around the dorm, then shrugs, knocking back the rest of his drink and setting the empty cup down on a table.

“Wouldn’t know,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Never really been to a party before.” Lance’s eyes bug out at that.

“Dude!” He nearly shouts. “I invited you to your _first party_ and it’s _bad?”_

“I guess?” Keith manages, eyebrows furrowing. Lance shakes his head solemnly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nope. No, I won’t stand for this.” He says, and promptly grabs Keith’s wrist, dragging him to the door of Sheffield’s dorm.

“What the fuck?” Keith says, stumbling along with him, too startled to really react. “Lance, where are we going?”

“Um, obviously I’m hijacking this so your first party experience isn’t total crap.” Lance says, pulling him out into the hallway and letting the door shut behind them, finally muffling the noise of the party. He lets go of Keith’s hand, turning to look at him. “You don’t actually have to come with, though. I’m not like, kidnapping you.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Keith says, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “I was just surprised. Where are we going?”

A smile comes back onto Lance’s face, which makes the significantly drunker part of Keith’s brain ridiculously happy.

“My dorm, duh. Hunk is out of town visiting family, so I’ve got it all to myself.” He says, sounding more excited now that he knows Keith’s in. Keith smiles back at him, helpless to tamp down his dopey affection now that he's good and tipsy.

“What are we waiting for, then?”

 

✦

 

“Twenty-one questions? Really?” Keith says when Lance proposes the idea, eyebrows arched.

“It’s a fun game!” Lance says defensively, sounding, for his part, legitimately offended.

“Right,” Keith says, amusement coloring his voice. “If you’re a douchebag.”

Lance huffs frustratedly, crossing his arms over his chest. Upon consideration, Keith realizes that Lance is _exactly_ the guy he’d expect to suggest twenty-one questions─flirtatious as all hell, with a new infatuation probably every two weeks, and, as Keith has discovered tonight, the type to wear fitted baseball shirts that show off a disappointing lack of muscle.

“I’m not gonna play _anything_ if you make fun of me,” Lance threatens, words slurring slightly─wow, he's a lot drunker than Keith originally thought─with his bottom lip stuck out in a classic Lance Pout. “Then we’ll just sit here, bored out of our minds. Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not. My bad.” Keith acquiesces, and he gestures towards the other cadet in invitation. “Go ahead.”

Lance brightens visibly, sitting up straighter where they're both sitting cross-legged on the floor of his dorm. “Okay, me first!” He says excitedly. “Hmm...who was your first kiss?”

Keith blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“I mean, half the class second year had a crush on you, so I wanna know who got some,” Lance babbles, eyes bright. Keith’s lips twitch into a frown.

“Uh, no one.” He says. “I haven’t had my first kiss.”

Lance’s eyes go wide. “Keith,” he says, grabbing at Keith’s shoulder with a sense of urgency. “Y’ haven't─no one’s kissed you?” He asks, his tongue tripping over syllables.

“No?” Keith manages confusedly, startled by the sudden touch.

Lance is silent, staring at him intently for a long moment before he speaks again, the urgent grip on Keith’s shoulder softening, smoothing down his arm.

“I should,” Lance says like a secret, eyes wide and piercing.

“You should what?” Keith whispers back.

“I should kiss you.” He says plainly. Keith breathes in sharply, cheeks hot and flushed red, and he knows that it's not from the alcohol anymore.

“You,” Keith starts, breath stuttering, “You─what?”

“I keep seein’ you look at me, Keith,” Lance mumbles, slowly drifting further into Keith’s personal space. “All the time. Drivin’─drivin’ me freaking _crazy.”_

“I don't─” Keith tries, eyes wide, but before he can even figure out what to say, Lance cuts him off.

“‘M not stupid.” He says, eyes trained on Keith. His pupils are blown wide in the low light, dark red splashed across his cheeks. “I know you like me.”

Keith’s breath catches in his throat.

“Keith,” Lance whispers, low and breathy, leaning closer. “Tell me no.” His voice is desperate, eyes lidded and trailing down to Keith’s lips. “Tell me no and I’ll stop.” He holds there, stock-still for a long few moments, and even as Keith’s brain screams at him that this is a mistake, even with the easy out Lance is dangling in front of him─he can't say anything.

Because Lance is right.

So Keith sits, silent, a word he doesn't want to say stuck in his throat like syrup, and Lance closes the distance.

For Keith, relief tastes like chlorine and Lance’s lips─mixed with the burning and bitter taste of shitty whiskey. Lance kisses him slow, softer than Keith expected, his tongue drawing along the line of his lips and parting them easy.

Keith’s cheeks flush warmly at the wet sound that comes when they part for breath. Lance’s eyes are dark with something unreadable, and there’s a long, quiet moment where they stare at each other, still inches apart. Then Lance is surging forward again, his hands tangling in Keith’s hair, and Keith gasps into it, backed up against Lance’s bunk with his hands braced against the other boy’s shoulders.

Lance’s kisses eventually start catching the corner of his lips and jaw, start to move down the line of Keith’s neck, hot and open-mouthed. They sear into his skin like a brand, burn through him until he’s melted against Lance’s bunk, putty under his mouth.

“Lance,” he breathes out, his voice rough. He feels Lance’s smile against his skin, feels the scrape of teeth and a soft suck to the base of his neck before Lance is pulling back to look at him.

“Can I give you a hickey?” He asks, eyes glinting in the low light, one hand sliding back out of Keith’s hair and edging the collar of his shirt to the side. “M’gonna─I’d make sure your uniform hides it,” he promises.

Keith’s breath catches, eyes still wide, his hands clutching at Lance’s shirt, desperate for grounding. He feels half-convinced that this isn’t even real─logically, it can’t be, because there’s no way Lance would ever want to kiss him, no way that he would ever get _this_ close to Keith, much less ask for more.

“Yes. Yeah, yes,” he says, because even if this is a fever dream or some stupid, drunken mistake on Lance’s part for him to look back on and laugh, Keith wants it. Pathetically, he _wants_ it. Every part of it.

Lance smiles softly, leaning down again and nipping lightly at Keith’s neck before biting down, littering dark purple-red spots against his skin and coaxing embarrassing whimpering noises from Keith’s throat. Keith lets himself relax against Lance’s bunk, head tipping back. Lance is nearly in his lap, long legs splayed on each side of Keith’s hips as he leaves marks up the line of his neck. The hickey he’s currently biting just under Keith’s jaw definitely won’t be covered by his uniform, but neither of them really have the presence of mind to remember the promise, or any significance it may have had.

If he’s being honest with himself, Keith knows that he never would have said no to Lance.

Lance slows after a while─Keith doesn’t think he can be trusted to give an accurate report on how much time actually passed, given his current state of both drunkenness and absolute shock that Lance Álvarez of all people was willing and almost _eager_ to kiss him. He comes back to reality around the same time Lance’s lips detach from his neck, pulling back to look Keith in the eye.

“M’tired,” he mumbles, eyelids drooping, which should absolutely not be as cute as it is. Keith laughs hoarsely.

“Go to sleep then, dumbass.” He murmurs back. He’s starting to feel pretty tired himself, now that the adrenaline has faded. Lance hums in response, as if thinking it over, and tucks his face back into the crook of Keith’s neck.

“Okay,” he says, lazily kissing one of the slowly purpling hickeys he’d left there, almost as an afterthought. “C’mere.” He sits up, clambering onto his bunk and grabbing Keith’s hands, attempting to pull him up with him.

Keith goes willingly, letting Lance tug him up alongside him on the blankets. As soon as Keith is situated, Lance drapes himself back over the other boy, flopping down on his chest so abruptly it forces a huff of air from Keith’s lungs. He lays his head on Keith’s shoulder, and, apparently satisfied, closes his eyes.

It takes all of two minutes for Lance to fall asleep, his breath evening out and body relaxing, freckled cheeks still rosy with the dregs of alcohol still in his system. Keith sighs, running his fingers through Lance’s short, surprisingly soft hair, smiling down at him fondly even as he starts to drool onto Keith’s shirt. His head is starting to hurt, and he still feels dizzy from inebriation, but a happy, soft feeling bubbles up in his chest nonetheless.

When Keith falls asleep that night, for once, it takes him no time at all.

 

✦

 

Keith opens his eyes to a slew of glow-in-the-dark stars littering the bunk ceiling above him, and, while they are pretty decorations, they are definitely not his.

His memories of the previous night slowly seep back as he recognizes the soundly asleep lump weighing on his chest as Lance, and the posters decorating the side of the dorm he’s currently sleeping on as Shiro’s.

(Which, by the way, he totally called Lance having.)

Evidently, on top of being as much of a Shiro superfan as Keith suspected, Lance is also an incredibly deep sleeper. He doesn't bat an eyelid while Keith slowly extracts himself from underneath him, wincing every time the sleeping cadet makes even the slightest noise. He even sleeps through Keith accidentally falling onto the floor after severely misjudging where the end of the bed was, which is surprising, given that it results in a distressingly loud _thunk_ and the closest to a heart attack Keith has ever come since being kissed by Lance.

Oh.

Right, that happened.

Fuck.

One of the harder feats Keith has managed is keeping his panic attack silent as, sprawled on the floor of Lance’s dorm, he suddenly remembers _exactly_ what happened last night.

 _I'm never touching alcohol again,_ he thinks, his heart doing backflips as he recalls how eagerly Drunk Keith had said yes when Lance asked to give him a hickey.

The breakdown he feels his brain slowly but surely drifting towards isn't exactly helpful to his current debilitating hangover─at this point, he can't tell if the nausea is from _that_ or the prospects of facing Lance with the knowledge that:

  1. The hickeys currently decorating Keith’s neck are from _him,_ and
  2. Lance knows about Keith’s embarrassing, world-destroying crush on him, and apparently has known about it for a _while,_ which makes Keith want to drop out and crawl into a pit.



He quickly stumbles to his feet, finally recognizing that his first priority should be getting the absolute fuck _out_ of the room that the cause of his mental breakdown is currently sleeping in. He slams his hand against the bright green _OPEN_ button on the dorm’s keypad, heaving a long sigh of relief once he’s in the hallway, Lance’s door sliding closed behind him.

He makes his way down the deserted hallways, trying to remember the route back to his dorm. Conveniently enough, all the cadets in the same year have dorms on the same floor, and it doesn’t take him very long to get back to an area he recognizes well enough to find his dorm.

He punches in his passcode on the keypad, saying a silent thank you to whatever higher power is out there that he got here before the other cadets started waking up. He walks into the familiar space of his dorm, bare-bones as it is, and flops down on his bunk. Thankfully, Shiro had helped him get a single dorm so he didn’t have to deal with the anxiety of a roommate, which also means he doesn't have to explain why he’s just now getting back at god-knows-what-hour of the morning to anyone.

 _Okay,_ he thinks, letting out a long sigh. _What now?_

 

✦

 

When the time for the class he has with Lance rolls around, Keith’s heart is beating out of his chest. He can barely pay attention to the worksheet Professor Walsh handed out when he walked in, even though he usually gets it out of the way in the first few minutes. Lance is running late, as usual. Keith knows his class before Walsh’s is halfway across the building, and he’s never been bothered by it before, but right now it’s drawing out having to wait to see exactly how bad the situation is.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Lance plops down in the seat next to him, textbook and notebook dropping down onto the table with a sudden _thunk._ Keith jolts, his head jerking up to see Lance grinning down at him.

“Feeling jumpy, Shirogane?” He teases, sliding into his seat and leaning his elbows on the table, propping up his chin in one hand. Keith’s eyebrows furrow, and for a moment, his anxiety about the situation melts out of him,

“Shut up, Álvarez.” He grumbles, rolling his eyes. Lance just laughs, giving Keith a teasing nudge to the ribs with his elbow.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “So, what’d you get up to at the party last night? I don’t remember seeing you after I told you how shit it was.”

Keith freezes, his face going slack and the anxiety that had slipped away with Lance’s classic jabs creeping back into his chest at twice the speed and volume it had left in.

_Fuck._

“Um,” he stutters out, “Nothing. I didn’t do anything.” He babbles. Lance raises one eyebrow carefully, his gaze dragging down to the collar of Keith’s uniform. He reaches out, fingertips brushing against the skin of his neck, and it takes a moment before Keith finally realizes exactly what Lance is touching.

His face flushes pink, and he quickly slaps his palm over the hickey stained against the skin just above his collar. Lance grins in amusement, evidently excited to have caught Keith so obviously in his lie.

“You’re still not covering the one under your jaw,” he points out, inclining his head to the spot that Keith finally remembers a particularly dark purple hickey is decorating his skin. Keith glowers at him darkly, but all it does is make his smile pull wider.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, giving up on trying to cover the hickeys and letting his hand drop back to the table.

“Nothing, huh?” Lance says, smirking. “Who’s the lucky guy, hotshot?”

“Shut _up,”_ Keith hisses, his face burning. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Come onnnn!” Lance whines. “Keith, please, you can’t deny me this. Was it your crush? The one Hunk was talking about?” He pushes, sounding legitimately curious.

Keith groans, burying his head in his hands. “Yes, okay?” He says, relenting. Lance whistles lowly, giving Keith a conspiratorial nudge.

 _“Nice,_ dude.” He says, grinning. “That’s awesome!” Keith frowns, leaning back in his seat and running a hand through his hair, reluctant to meet Lance’s eyes.

“Not...not really.” He sighs. “He, uh─I don’t think he likes me like that.”

He’s having a hard time believing that he’s talking to Lance _about Lance,_ that he’s admitting that he has a crush in the first place, but he knows Lance well enough at this point to understand that there’s no way he’s getting out of this situation without spilling. Lance can be worse than Hunk when it comes to gossip if he’s invested enough and, apparently, Keith’s nonexistent love life qualifies.

Lance’s face drops back into a frown, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Dude, he gave you like, a billion hickeys.” He says, making Keith’s cheeks flush hot at the memory. “Why would you think he doesn’t like you back?”

“We were pretty drunk,” Keith mumbles. Which is true, given that Lance _doesn’t even fucking remember_ most of his and Keith’s interactions from last night. “I don’t think it meant anything.”

“Shit, man.” Lance says, a blatantly pitying look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, that sucks.”

A dark, bitter feeling curls in the pit of Keith’s stomach, weighing so heavy on his chest that he feels suffocated. He stares back at Lance, silent, any words he could conjure stuck painfully in his throat.

“Yeah,” he manages after a long moment, voice choked. “It really does.”

 

✦

 

Looking back, Keith can pinpoint exactly the moment things start to fall apart.

There are a few weeks between that moment and the aftermath of Sheffield’s party where he tries his best to pretend that everything’s normal, to take the golden opportunity that’s been handed to him to ignore everything that happened. If Lance doesn’t remember what happened between them, it means that nothing has to change. He doesn’t have to risk losing the only friends he’s managed to make at the Garrison. He doesn’t have to suffer through rejection, through the sad, pitying look Hunk will inevitably give him, the consolation he gets as the idiot who fell for someone who obviously wasn’t interested. It seems perfect.

But the thing is─he’s greedy.

Being friends with Lance feels suffocating, feels like all Keith can do is remember how his lips felt, remember how close he was to having what had been at the back of his mind since the beginning of their third year.

How Lance had stared at him with those dark, endless eyes and whispered, _‘I’m not stupid. I know you like me.’_

How Lance not remembering what had happened doesn’t change that he’s probably still completely aware of Keith’s feelings for him. How the rejection Keith has been trying to _avoid_ by smiling through pretending everything is fine is still hovering ominously on the horizon. As much as Keith pokes fun at Lance for being carelessly flirty, he _knows_ him. He knows how hard he can fall for people, and how he would never just ignore it if he knew someone fell for _him_ like that. The idea of him letting Keith down gently, giving him a pitying look with his eyes all soft─it hurts more than just flat-out rejection.

So he pulls back. Slow, at first, so Lance and Hunk don't notice, but more and more. He dodges Lance’s invitations to sneak out, says he's busy when he asks him to come to the rec room between classes. He starts eating lunch in his dorm instead of at their usual table in the cafeteria, starts hanging out with Shiro more and more on weekends so he won't run into Lance around the Garrison.

It gets worse when Shiro leaves for the Kerberos mission. Between the anxiety that's been gnawing at the pit of Keith’s stomach ever since he found out about Shiro’s illness, and the fresh guarantee that his anchor in the storm that his life has been lately is _gone,_ it only drags his mood down further. Adam tries his best to fill the empty space, but it's a hollow gesture; Keith knows that he and Shiro fought before the mission to Kerberos left, and as much as he appreciates how Adam has and continues to care for him, it feels strange to talk to him in the new context of his relationship to Shiro.

The stress gets to him. It's hard for it _not_ to, given the circumstances. His already-short temper begins to fray further, words coming out biting and his bickering with Lance becoming more and more genuine. Lance’s teasing jabs normally seem funny to him, but now, on edge as he is, they push his mood into the realm of genuine anger quicker.

The first few days, Lance and Hunk seem to pass it off as a bad mood, but things…collapse.

Keith feels discomfort weigh deep in his body, notices how it takes less and less to set him off, and he pulls back even further into his own world than before.

 _This is my issue to resolve,_ he tells himself firmly. _Not something to bother Lance and Hunk with. Not something they should worry about dealing with._

It's after the news about Kerberos comes in that the last thread holding his life together finally snaps.

He gets called out of class to Iverson’s office─at first, he thinks it's to lecture him about _‘wasting his potential’_ like Iverson usually does, but when he opens the door, the Commander’s expression is more serious than angry.

“Cadet Shirogane,” he says gravely, hands folded neatly together on top of his desk. “I have some bad news about the Kerberos mission.”

Keith’s stomach drops, and the door slams shut behind him.

 

✦

 

That’s the moment Keith knows he’s spiraled down far enough that he won’t be able to claw his way back out of it. Usually, he gets angry, or frustrated, or _something,_ but all he feels right now is…empty.

He lays in the darkness of his dorm, disconnected from time, eyes aching from lack of sleep and chest hollow. He goes to class when he has to, but half his time in the classroom is spent zoning out completely. He sees Lance giving him worried looks out of the corner of his eye as the days pass and remains, admittedly, a pretty terrible friend. 

Eventually, he’s pulled out of his own head by the sound of knuckles rapping against his door. He’s been lying in the silence of his own dorm for a while, having just recently gathered up the energy to dress himself again after his shower.

He pulls himself up from his bunk reluctantly, walking over to the door and punching the _OPEN_ button on the keypad. The quiet swish of the door opening reveals Lance shadowed over in the doorway. In the hall, the lights are set to night mode, though Keith could've sworn that it wasn't late enough to trigger the change to cool, low light yet.

“Hey,” Lance says, smiling. It strains at the edges of his mouth and doesn't reach his eyes, painfully fake. There's something unreadable set deep in his expression, but Keith doesn't even know where to start figuring it out.

“Hey,” Keith echoes back lamely. Lance takes his response as a green light for him to move into the room, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders tight with tension, the obvious facade of calmness still plastered onto his face. He wanders over by Keith’s desk, eyeing the walls of the room, and it suddenly occurs to Keith that this is the first time Lance has been in his dorm.

“Listen, man,” Lance starts, and _shit,_ he’s really just getting straight to the point. “Me ‘n Hunk are getting really worried about you.” Keith huffs out a breathy laugh.

“That so.” He says. _Wonder why._ Lance purses his lips, eyebrows knitting together.

“Yeah…” He trails off, uncertain. “I know Shiro was like, your mentor, and the whole Kerberos thing is probably really upsetting, but.” He draws in a long breath. “You need to take care of yourself. You're just─you know this is bad, right?” Lance says, gesturing vaguely around the room.

Keith scowls.  “I’m not a _child.”_ He says tersely. “I don't need to be taken care of, and I don't need _you_ poking into shit that isn't your business.” Lance’s expression changes strangely, a worried crease folding between his eyebrows, and he stares at Keith for a long moment, silent.

“What happened, man?” He speaks up, voice soft and almost sad. “Even before Kerberos, you’ve just…” he trails off distantly, frowning, brows knitted together.

“I just _what.”_ Keith says flatly.

“That!” Lance says, running a hand back through his hair. “That, Keith. You just─half the time it feels like you fucking _hate_ me.”

“Maybe some of us aren’t obsessed with you like everyone else is,” Keith snaps, scowling. Something pained flashes in Lance’s eyes, and his lips twist down into a frown.

“I’m not─I’m not fucking _saying_ that you should be!” He exclaims, his voice wavering slightly. “This is what I’m talking about, Keith, I─what happened to you? What did I _do?”_

“The fact that you even have to ask is─” Keith starts, cutting himself off and taking in a deep breath, fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t fucking─sometimes people just _aren’t friends.”_ He grits out, heartbeat thundering in his chest and screaming at him to just _stop,_ just tell him, own up to how pathetically _gone_ on Lance he is and let the whole charade of being angry at Lance instead of himself just...end, for good.

He wants all of it to _end._

Lance falters, breath hitching, and after a long moment, he speaks up again.

“Are we...we’re not friends?” He asks, voice cracking and genuine hurt behind his warm brown eyes. His expression makes Keith’s heart splinter in his chest, makes him feel like the worst person on the planet, and he can’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to, evidently. Lance stares at him for a long moment, waiting through Keith’s silence before his expression hardens, eyes sparking with anger and brows pulled tight.

“Fuck you, too, Shirogane.” He snaps, turning on his heel and storming back out of Keith’s dorm, not sparing a glance behind him as he leaves.

Keith caves the second the door slides into place behind Lance’s retreating figure. His legs give up on him, leaving him crumpled on the floor by his bunk. He buries his face in his arms, shoulders shaking and chest aching, and it's not long before he feels the wet heat of tears dripping down his cheeks.

His throat clenches, choked sounds wracking his chest as they squeeze their way out regardless, messy tears bubbling up in his eyes and rolling down patchy red cheeks, dripping down his chin to his chest and wetting the collar of his shirt.

And Keith doesn't─he doesn't _cry._ He hasn't cried in a long time. Not when it ever made sense to; he would feel it in his chest, wonder if he was _supposed_ to, or needed to, but nothing would happen. Yet here he is, in the aftermath of something that is entirely his own fault, decimated.

Keith shoves his face against his shirtsleeves, curled into himself on the floor of his dorm, and sobs.

 

✦

 

Somehow, Keith starts feeling better after he gets kicked out of the Garrison.

The desert is calming, in a strange way. He somehow manages to get his dad’s old air conditioner working, which subdues the daytime heat, making the old house significantly more bearable. The nights come with coyotes howling in the distance, pale moonlight draping over the vast expanses of empty land and dying the redrock purple in its cool glow.

It almost feels like something there is looking out for him. The feeling had wrapped around him as he drove his speeder past the rocky caverns, warm and strangely familiar. Grounding, as if there was another presence out past the flatlands, in the canyons and cactus gardens, silently watching him.

His dreams shift strangely along with it─they come erratically, either not at all or recurring. He’s always floating by himself in an ocean of cool blue, eyes fluttered shut calmly, and the presence he often wonders about reaches out with welcoming arms, says: _You’re doing so well, cub. Soon. Rest. Wait._

It feels like what he’d hoped for as a child when he wondered if his mother was coming back for him. Maternal and loving. Proud, though he doesn't know what of. He allows himself to sink into that warmth while he has it close enough to hold onto.

(After those nights, most mornings he wakes up with tears still drying on his face, eyes red.)

 

Looking into the feeling more brings a wave of other discoveries crashing down with it. It’s like they’re all interconnected, woven together loosely like fraying knitwear. He doesn’t have much else to do out in the middle of nowhere other than pursue it, so…he does. He takes his speeder out to the caves, traces the strange geometric lions that seem almost engraved into the dark stone walls. He sits out on the edge of the mesa as the sun hangs high above him, burning his skin a peach-pink that slowly fades into a tan with obvious lines where his shirt and gloves hit. He spends the rest of the month trying to even it out in between research, but the blocky outlines of his gloves stick to his hands like glue.

He starts wearing them more to cover it. If anyone asks, he’ll say it’s a personal choice.

 

✦

 

The catalyst comes at night.

Keith is outside cleaning the dust off his speeder from his excursion that afternoon when the midnight purple sky lights up with white streaking across it. It almost looks like a comet, at first glance, but after a moment Keith realizes it's a _ship─_ and it's about to crash.

He wastes no time in swinging a leg over the side of his speeder, revving the engine and taking off across the plateau, trying to keep up with the ship as it falls through the sky, glowing almost purple. Keith realizes suddenly that it’s _definitely_ not Garrison-issue, which sends a sharp spike of mixed fear and excitement shooting through him. Clouds of dust billow up behind him, and he quickly tugs his bandana over his mouth so he doesn't breathe it in, squinting against the wind.

It’s not hard to find the smoking wreck where the ship lands, and apparently, he hadn't been the only one watching─he sees the military-issue tents go up in the distance and curses, slamming his foot on the accelerator.

He makes a wide arc around the crash site, dropping flares he'd had on the back of his speeder as he goes before circling back around, coming to a slow halt behind a boulder and getting off. He presses the button to detonate the flares, watching as the Garrison officials jolt in sudden shock and clutch their blasters to their sides, running off to search for the source of the explosions.

Silently, Keith waits until most of the personnel have left before darting forward, pushing the canvas flap out of way and walking cautiously down the corridor, his dust-stained boots clacking against the wooden planks of the makeshift floor. He can hear voices coming from the room at the end of the hall, either unaware of the disturbance or more concerned with… _whatever_ the ship was.

He lets himself slip into a fighting stance as the doors swish open, the group of Garrison scientists occupying the room turning to him in surprise. They're all equipped in hazmat suits, faces shadowed, and before he can let himself linger on why they’re protecting themselves from whatever’s strapped down to the table, he swings a fist forward to the closest one, sending them stumbling to the side.

It takes all of a few minutes to take the rest out of commission, at least briefly─they must have been depending on the personnel outside that Keith sent running with his flares to keep away any potentially dangerous interference, because none of them are armed when he surveys their suits. He tugs the bandana off his face, taking in a breath of fresh air and hesitantly making his way toward the table in the center of the room.

As soon as he gets close, his eyes go wide in recognition. The unconscious figure strapped down to the table is _Shiro._ Or, at least, it looks like Shiro. He looks exhausted, eyes ringed with dark circles and a jagged scar cut across the flat bridge of his nose, his bangs striped with an unnatural shock of white.

“Shiro?” Keith murmurs, hands hovering above the restraints as he takes in Shiro’s strange clothes and the cold metal that has replaced his right arm up to the midpoint of his bicep. His eyebrows furrow, and he unsheathes his knife from his belt, slipping it under the restraints and flicking the handle up, slicing through the material easily. Carefully, he drapes Shiro’s arm over his shoulder, pulling him off the table and grunting slightly as he supports the older man’s weight.

“Nope! No, nonono, no you don't, _I’m_ saving Shiro!” a familiar voice speaks up from across the room, and Keith’s head jerks up, eyes widening when he sees Lance standing in the doorway, glaring at him.

Hunk stands a few steps behind them, seeming about as nervous as Keith is starting to feel, flanked by a smaller cadet with mousy hair and big, round wire-rimmed glasses.

Lance marches forward, shoving the table out of his way where it had moved when Keith pulled Shiro off of it, and grabs Shiro’s other arm, throwing it over his shoulder to mirror Keith’s pose.

Keith is still speechless. It’s been over a year since he’s seen Lance at this point, and as much as he would have liked to believe that his feelings for him had dissipated, it’s...pretty obvious that that’s not true. He can’t stop _staring_ _─_ at the freckles dappled across his nose and cheeks that had been burned into his memory, smooth brown skin and brown hair, curling up at the ends. It’s almost strange to see him looking like this; his eyebrows pulled tight, soft lips twisted into an angry frown, and his─his fucking _eyes._ They’re painfully familiar, beautifully dark brown and flecked with amber, but Keith remembers their gaze soft, warm. Not like this; sharp and biting and _wrong._

Suddenly, back in Lance’s presence, his mind throws him back into a slew of memories that seemed so far in the past after his year out on his own in the desert. He remembers how the last time he saw Lance was paired with the same angry expression and him turning away, storming out of Keith’s dorm after a conversation riddled with concern, then frustration, then anger, then _‘fuck you, too, Shirogane’─_

─and he can’t do this. He can’t.

  
  
 

 

“Who are you?”


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing Lance expected to be doing with his life was fighting a war. Least of all in space, and especially not alongside Keith Shirogane.
> 
> If anyone had told him he would be Keith’s right-hand man a year ago, he would've outright laughed in their face. Would've said sorry, you've got the wrong person, because Keith had washed out a long time ago and decided to leave any care he ever had for Lance in his emptied-out dorm room.
> 
> (And maybe if someone told him that a little further back, he would've smiled and said of course. Me and Keith, we’re gonna be the best team the Garrison has ever seen! Maybe he would've slung his arm over Keith’s shoulder, glued to each other as they used to be, and grinned while the other boy rolled his eyes.
> 
> But he’d rather not think about that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> initially i wasnt gonna have a follow-up chapter to this, but a lot of the comments asked for a conclusion and tbh ch1 didnt feel very cohesive so. heres this, hope y'all enjoy

The last thing Lance expected to be doing with his life was fighting a war. Least of all in space, and  _ especially _ not alongside Keith Shirogane.

If anyone had told him he would be Keith’s right-hand man a year ago, he would've outright laughed in their face. Would've said  _ sorry, you've got the wrong person,  _ because Keith had washed out a long time ago and decided to leave any care he ever had for Lance in his emptied-out dorm room. 

(And maybe if someone told him that a little further back, he would've smiled and said  _ of course. Me and Keith, we’re gonna be the best team the Garrison has ever seen!  _ Maybe he would've slung his arm over Keith’s shoulder, glued to each other as they used to be, and grinned while the other boy rolled his eyes.

But he’d rather not think about that.) 

See, the thing Lance had learned about being part of a team essential to the survival of the free universe was that holding grudges wouldn't work in his favor─especially not when Keith’s brother was the one leading the team.

So he learned to let it go. He forged a silent agreement with Hunk to forget the Garrison, eventually molding his relationship with Keith into something like what they used to have. 

There’s something painful about it, about ignoring everything─despite how Keith might pretend he doesn't, Lance knows he remembers just as much as Lance and Hunk do. He can tell from the small flashes of recognition in his body language when Lance talks about flight school, sees the same pained look in his eyes that Lance feels in his chest when they come too close to how familiar they used to be. It’s almost like nostalgia, but instead of a warm feeling of remembrance, it only leaves a bitter taste at the back of his tongue; acrid and choking. 

A small, hopeful part of him thinks that, if Keith remembers, maybe he had a reason for lying. Maybe it wasn't just to piss Lance off, like he used to think it was. That part of him is constantly needling, whispering that maybe Keith was just upset because he thought he lost his brother. That he really does care about Lance the way Lance always wishes he would. It cites the soft look in Keith’s eyes as proof, the gentle smiles, the  _ ‘I need my right-hand man’  _ and  _ ‘nice work, sharpshooter’,  _ and, pathetically, Lance starts to believe that it could be true. 

He should know better by now.

Shiro’s return comes sweeping in like a tidal wave, taking the focus of Keith’s attention and their comfortably-established dynamic out of Lance’s fragile grip. Quickly following in the aftermath, Keith’s departure to the Blade of Marmora hits almost twice as hard, crushing that half-formed hope underfoot as he turns to go. 

Keith leaves, again. 

Lance thinks he’s getting pretty good at that.

 

✦

 

“Dude.”

Lance looks up at the sound of Hunk’s voice, hands stilling where they'd been fiddling with the tools Hunk had set out on the table.

“Huh?” He says blankly, blinking himself out of the haze his mind had settled into. “Sorry man, zoned out for a second there.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Hunk says, frowning. “You alright, man? You've been really out of it lately.” Lance waves him off. 

“I'm totally fine!” He insists. He knows it's not convincing, not even a. little by he way Hunk frowns deeper, eyebrows pulling together.

“Nah, you've been acting weird ever since…” Hunk trails off, and Lance can tell by his voice that he's realized  _ exactly _ why Lance is acting like this. 

“Please don't say it.” Lance groans, burying his face in his hands. 

“Lance.” Hunk says, and when Lance looks back up, his expression is painfully sympathetic. “You gotta talk about it eventually.” 

“Nope!” He exclaims. “He's not, so  _ I'm _ not. It’s all good.” 

“Lance…” Hunk says, giving him a Significant Look. Lance shakes his head fiercely, standing up and planting his hands on the table with finality.

“Well, better get to bed!” He says with faux-brightness, plastering a smile onto his face. “Gotta get my beauty sleep.” Hunk’s bites his lip, and Lance can tell that he's mentally calculating whether or not it's worth it to push this.

“Alright, man.” He says after a long moment. “Goodnight.” 

“Night,” Lance says, giving Hunk a two-fingered salute and walking out of the room, doors sliding closed behind him. 

He lets out a heavy sigh, heading down the hallway to his room and punching in the door code he’d chosen, walking in and flopping back onto his bed. Lance stares the the ceiling of his bunk, limbs sprawled and eyes drooping closed after a long moment. 

Lance does not miss Keith. That would be weird. Sure, they were working okay together again or whatever, but he's still─ _ Keith.  _ Stubborn, broody,  _ ‘I'm-going-to-train-myself-into-a-coma-and-you-can't-stop-me’ _ Keith. And, okay, that makes it sound like he  _ cares _ about Keith's apparent insistence on training himself to the point of exhaustion, but he doesn't! 

Probably. 

Maybe.

Okay,  _ whatever,  _ he does.

And maybe he misses dragging Keith out of the training room before he collapses from exhaustion. Or just Keith, in general. 

For the first few days, he stubbornly ignored how Keith’s absence leaves something empty in his chest, pretended he didn't understand the significance of the lead-like feeling that’s been weighing him down ever since Keith left with the Blade. Significant as in Hunk eying him knowingly, as in Shiro having a conversation with him that sounded suspiciously like a shovel talk. It honestly feels like everyone noticed this─whatever  _ this _ is─before he did, and it needles at him irritatingly that he's the last to realize his own emotions. 

It seems ridiculous, even to him, that he misses Keith, but─he's only human, alright? He gets attached to people, whether he likes it or not. Attached to the thick scent of leather, of the Altean conditioner Keith used because  _ ‘you can skip shampoo, right’,  _ the musk of sweat (which should be  _ so much grosser  _ than it is) that he'd subconsciously become used to all over again.

Lance groans in frustration, shoving his face into a pillow and muffling a scream in the soft fabric. God, how is he this  _ stupid? _ When Keith left the first time, Lance had cursed his name and sworn up and down that if he came back, they would never be friends again. The anger over everything had only intensified when Keith had evidently forgotten who he was.

Yet, here he is all over again. Moping in his room over a guy who  _ used _ to be one of his best friends and, evidently, gets a kick out of leaving when things have even a chance of being good. Lance groans, shoving his face into his pillow. God, he really needs to get over this already.

He falls into a restless sleep, and does  _ not _ dream of Keith in his Garrison uniform, smiling.

 

✦

 

Every single time they have a meeting with the Blade of Marmora, it seems like Keith is the representative.

Lance feels like the universe is conspiring against him.

“The mission was successful,” Keith says, cold and businesslike as usual. “I don’t see why this meeting needs to happen.”

“It’s not necessarily about the mission, Keith.” Shiro says calmly. “We just wanted to check in. You haven’t been in contact with us that much.” Keith frowns, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, his expression tense. Lance doesn’t think he’s seen him anything  _ but _ tense since he left.

“I’ve been busy.” He says. “I have a lot of missions with the Blade.”

“Yeah, but…” Hunk says sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “We still wanna know how you’re doing, y’know? We’re still friends.”

“Are we?” Keith says expression tense. “I remember  _ someone _ saying they were only friends with me as long as we were part of Voltron.” His eyes flick to Lance in his periphery, something unreadable in them. “I’m not a paladin anymore.” Lance’s jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists.

_ “You’re _ the one who left, Keith!” Lance snaps, his temper frayed. The room goes silent at that, and Keith stares at Lance with wide eyes.

“Joining the Blade was for the sake of the Coalition, Lance, you know that─” Shiro starts, attempting to mediate, and Lance’s knuckles pale, nails digging into his palms.

“This isn’t about that and he knows it.” Lance cuts him off, angry gaze still trained on the other boy. 

A flicker of hurt crosses Keith’s expression, hummingbird-quick before his face settles into something calm and collected. It’s mature, and so painfully unfamiliar from the impulsive, emotional Keith he’s known that it makes his blood boil.

“Keith?” Pidge speaks up hesitantly. “Um...what  _ does  _ he mean, then?” Keith is silent for a long moment, gaze focused on his boots.

“I'm not going to talk about this here, Lance.” He says coolly. 

“No, you're _never_ gonna talk about it.” Lance snaps. “You never want to fucking talk about it, Keith! You don't even have the decency to give me an explanation! "

Keith presses his lips into a thin line, expression carefully blank. But Lance  _ knows _ him, has his behaviors and tics and tells burned into his memory whether he likes it or not, and both of them know that he’s not unaffected. 

“I should go,” he says. “Kolivan’s expecting me.” Then, without waiting for anyone’s permission or even reaction, he turns on his heel, walking out the door.

The sight is getting more familiar each time.

“Fine, just run away!” Lance yells after him, anger bubbling up in his chest like molten lava. “You're good at that!”

Keith stops for a second, shoulders tensed, and turns, eyes blazing. For a moment, Lance thinks he’s going to say something─say  _ anything─ _ but then he just shakes his head, turning back around and heading to the ship bay. Gone all over again.

The familiarity of it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

 

✦

 

They don't speak, even on the next mission the Blade takes with Voltron.

The silent, lingering cloud of anger hangs over them even as they walk side-by-side down the corridor of the Galra ship, weapons at the ready. Shiro had sent them off together, throwing Keith an unreadable look, and Lance decided he didn't care enough about  _ whatever _ stupid shit was going on with Keith to decrypt it. 

They don’t really acknowledge each other, much less talk─at least, not until they turn the corner to find a whole host of Galran guards lying in wait. As the sentries’ armor clanks, turning to face the two, they make eye contact. Keith nods sharply, silently getting the message Lance sends, and he darts forward, dagger glowing purple as it lengthens into a blade.

They move in relative harmony, Keith fighting close and Lance taking out guards from further away. Lance snipes anyone trying to catch Keith off guard when he's preoccupied with a particular sentry, and Keith keeps them from getting close enough to Lance to even scratch him.

As angry as Lance is at him, he knows that a simple truth of their circumstance is that he and Keith make a good team. They've taken out the majority of the sentries already─though, admittedly, guard bots are easier to mow through than actual Galra─and as he takes out the very last one, Lance sighs in relief, letting his guard drop.

Then he turns, and he’s staring down the barrel of a gun. 

It's sudden, enough that Lance knows he can't lift his bayard in time. He sees a violet-clawed finger pulling at the trigger, and he knows he's done. He just squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for impact. 

Impact comes, but it's not the one he expected.

He feels hands on his shoulder, and before he can process anything, he's being shoved out of the way. His eyes open wide, and he stumbles to the ground a foot away from where he’d been standing. In his place is Keith, chest heaving and eyes just as wide, staring back at him.

The Galra is startled enough by Keith pushing him out of the way that Lance has an opening, and he tears his eyes away, steadying his gun and shooting the officer in the neck. They go down like a stone, and Lance sighs, muscles finally falling lax. 

Then he looks back towards Keith.

Red drips down from a hole in his stomach that's  _ way too big, oh my god, _ and Lance follows the steady leak of blood that stains his leg armor purple-red. Keith's eyes follow his, and he raises a hand to the wound, blinking slowly at his hands, slicked red with blood. His eyes draw back up to Lance, and he stares at him for a long moment, silent. 

A small, relieved smile curves at his lips, and he collapses.

It throws Lance back into action, scrambling to his feet and grabbing Keith by the shoulders, falling to his knees in front of him and easing Keith back, hands fumbling. Keith’s breath is coming fast and shallow, eyebrows knit together, his hands limp and bloodstained at his sides. Lance presses both hands over the gaping wound in his stomach, putting pressure on it and trying not to wince when Keith lets out a pained gasp.

“Idiot,” he hisses.  _ “Idiot─ _ why did you  _ do _ that?” He demands, feeling kind of hysterical. Keith huffs out a quiet little laugh, eyelids sagging slightly like he doesn't quite have the energy to keep them open. 

“Still…still yelling at me, huh.” He says. 

“Yes! What the fuck were you thinking?” Lance yells, desperately pressing his hands against the fucking  _ hole  _ carved through Keith’s stomach, because he may not like Keith much right now, but he's not going to let him die. He won't let Keith die before they can fix this, before Lance can stop being a fucking  _ idiot _ and tell Keith how he really feels about everything that's happened between them. 

“Wasn't really thinking,” Keith grunts, his expression twisted up in pain. “Just…just wanted to protect you.” Lance swallows thickly, his heartbeat thundering against his ribcage. 

“Shut up.” He snaps. “You didn't have to take a fucking bullet for me to do that, Keith,  _ shut up.”  _ Keith huffs out a tired-sounding sigh, and his brows pinch together, chestplate rising with the obvious effort he needs to breathe. 

“You're really mad…” he mumbles. 

“Of course I am, you're  _ bleeding─”  _ Lance starts, but Keith shakes his head, cutting him off. 

“Not about that.” He says, looking up at him with a certain kind of sadness in his eyes that makes Lance feel like his heart’s being ripped out. “Before. Been angry since we left Earth.” His eyes fall shut, a soft breath gusting from his mouth. Lance opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. 

“I'm…I’m not mad at you.” He admits. “I was just upset that you forgot about me.” Keith’s eyes peel back open, and he looks up at Lance with big, starry eyes.

“Really?” He says hoarsely. Lance nods. “I─” He cuts himself off with a pained groan, eyebrows pulled tight and leaning heavier against Lance.

“Shh, you're okay, it's okay…” Lance babbles, pressing his palm harder against the still-bleeding wound. “Know it hurts, Keith, I'm so sorry.”

“M’sorry,” Keith mumbles, eyes fluttered shut again, his expression pained. “Didn't mean to─make you sad.”

“It's okay,” Lance says desperately. “Please just stay awake, Keith,  _ please.” _

“Never forgot you,” Keith says, and Lance freezes, staring down at him. 

“You─” Lance chokes out. “What?”

“Didn’t wanna,” Keith gasps out, chest heaving with the effort. “Keep it messed up. Y’were mad…’fore I left.” Lance swallows, remembering confronting Keith in his dorm; remembering the haunting sight of him with bags under his eyes so deep they seemed bruised; remembering  _ ‘sometimes people just aren't friends’,  _ bitter and biting. 

“Yeah…yeah, I was.” He says, because he doesn't know what else he can say. Keith laughs─Lance  _ thinks _ it's a laugh, at least. It sounds wet and wheezing and  _ painful, _ but Keith is smiling. 

“Lied,” he manages. His hands fumble, one catching Lance’s bicep and holding on tight. “Keep lying to you. M’sorry.” His eyes glisten, something pooling at their corners, and Lance feels sick. 

“About─about what?” Lance asks, voice quiet. His hands are still on Keith’s stomach, so wet with blood he can feel it on his skin, warm and viscous. 

“Not caring ‘bout you.” Keith mumbles, eyes half-open and looking up at Lance, unfocused but  _ trying,  _ lids heavy with the effort. Tears streak down his face, painting wet lines over his cheeks. “Care a lot.”

“Keith,” Lance says, pained. “Please, just─focus on staying alive. You can tell me later, okay? Tell me about it later.”

“Was just sad y’forgot about it,” Keith says anyway, hand squeezing its grip on Lance’s arm, looking for anchor. 

“Forgot?” Lance says, bewildered. Keith half-nods, his head lolled back against Lance’s thigh. 

“Party.” Keith mumbles, barely coherent. “Kissed me.” Lance goes still, eyes wide as he looks down at Keith.

He can't manage words, too stunned to even  _ think,  _ but Keith can. He opens his eyes, struggling with how much energy it takes, and smiles.

“Your…lips are really soft.” He says, voice hoarse. “Always r’member that.” 

“I─” Lance chokes out, disbelieving. Keith’s eyes flutter shut again, and he lets go of Lance’s arm. 

“G’night, Lance.” He mumbles, chestplate rising only slightly with the shallow breath he takes. “Love you.” Then he goes limp, body sagging against Lance.

“Nononono─” Lance babbles, shaking Keith by his shoulder. “Keith! Wake up!” 

“Oh god.” He jolts at the sound of a voice behind them, and turns to see Pidge and Hunk across the room. Hunk has a hand clasped over his mouth, eyes wide, and Pidge looks just as unsettled. She snaps out of it first, running over to them and pressing her hands over Lance’s.

“Hunk!” She shouts. “Call Coran tell him to get a pod ready, we need to go  _ now!”  _ She turns her gaze to Lance, expression unsettlingly grave for a fourteen-year-old. “Can you pick him up?”

“Fuck─yeah.” Lance says, curling an arm under Keith’s knees and behind his back and lifting. Pidge stands with him, her hands still pressed to the wound of Keith’s stomach. Keith lets out a pained groan as they move, which, upsetting as it is, lets Lance know he’s at least still alive. 

“Red’s the fastest.” Hunk says, wringing his hands as he runs alongside them down the corridor. “You should take him.” Lance nods wordlessly, trying to tune out the little whimpers Keith lets out every time he’s jostled. 

Reluctantly, Pidge pulls her hands away, splitting off with Hunk to fight off a slew of Galran sentries. Lance breaks out into a sprint down a different hallway where he knows Red is lying in wait, Keith’s limp body clutched to his chest. His boots skid slightly as he turns the corner, and he almost cries in relief at the sight of Red, the lion’s jaw shuddering open and ramp extending towards him. He’s never been the best at sensing what Lance needed, not like Blue was, but Lance has a feeling that his former paladin being in danger kicked him into gear.

He stumbles up the ramp, carefully setting Keith down against the back wall of Red’s cockpit and pressing Keith’s limp hands to the wound in his stomach, praying whatever scraps of consciousness the other boy has left in him is enough to know he should press down. In any other situation, Lance would secure it with a scrap of fabric or  _ something, _ but all he has is his armor, and they need to go.  _ Now. _

He collapses in the pilot’s seat, wrapping shaky, blood-slicked hands around Red’s controls and trying not to notice how it stains the Altean-white surface sickly red.

“Hold on, Keith.” He murmurs as Red hums to life around him. “I’m takin’ you home.”

 

✦

 

Lance wakes up to quiet, steady beeping coming from his communicator.

He blinks his eyes open, fumbling for the glowing screen, and sits up, running a hand through sleep-mussed hair and looking down at the communicator pad. An alert for a healing pod blinks on the screen, and through the haze of sleep, Lance takes a few moments to realize that there’s only one pod occupied that it could be talking about.

_ Keith. _

He throws off his covers, scrambling to put his shoes on and run out the door. Hunk had forced him to stop waiting outside Keith’s pod a few hours earlier, and admittedly, he’d been so exhausted that he hadn’t been able to do much other than kick his shoes off before he passed out. He stumbles a bit in his haste to run down the hallway towards the medical bay, and the doors slide open with a quiet  _ hiss _ the moment he comes to stand in front of them.

Everyone else is already there, huddled around an open pod, chattering excitedly. Lance can see Keith in the middle of it all, clad in the Altean pod suit and smiling, soft and happy and...alive. 

He’s alive. He’s okay.

Keith glances towards the door, and Lance feels his whole body freeze when their eyes meet. There’s silence for a long moment, and Lance is legitimately considering shooting himself out of the airlock and suffering a slow death before Hunk speaks up.

“Well!” He says loudly. “Too bad we all have to leave right now except for Keith and Lance because of that thing we have to do!” He glances pointedly at Allura, nudging her with his elbow.

“Oh, uh, right. The thing we have to do!” She exclaims, then grabs Pidge and Shiro, dragging them out the med bay door past Lance. Hunk and Coran follow quickly, both babbling about  _ ‘oh yes of course, the very important thing Lance and Keith don’t have to do’. _ Hunk pats Lance on the shoulder as he leaves, winking, and Lance feels his face flush with heat.

He and Keith both stand in awkward silence once the door closes behind the others, eyes locked. After a beat, Keith sighs, running a hand through his hair and averting his eyes from Lance’s face.

“...Look,” he says, sounding unnaturally dejected. “I obviously made you uncomfortable with the, um. Stuff. I brought up. We can just forget it happened." He looks back at Lance, hesitance clear in his expression, waiting for an answer, looking really fucking distracting in his  _ skin-tight bodysuit,  _ and Lance panics.

“I remember the bonding moment!" He blurts out, which no, fuck, definitely the wrong thing to say right now _Lance_ _you fucking moron_. He winces internally, and Keith’s expression shifts into shock.

“What.” He says, looking at Lance in confusion. Lance barrels on, determined to use the sudden confidence he feels before it burns out.

“That's why we keep getting mad at each other, right? Forgetting. I..." He bites his lip, glancing away from Keith’s intense stare. "I don't want to forget. I...god, Keith, you have no idea how crazy it's been driving me that I don't remember what it was like to kiss you, because I─" He swallows. steeling himself. He's been wanting to say this for a long time, and he's not stopping himself now. "I’ve thought about it so much. I think about─about  _ you _ , all the fucking time. I don't want to forget again. We keep fucking everything up between us by forgetting."

Keith’s expression softens, a smile curving his lips that makes Lance’s heart melt and his thoughts go stupid. Keith laughs a little, a quiet thing that still stirs up affection in Lance’s chest.

“God, me neither.” He murmurs, eyes soft. “But I─” He looks up at Lance, lips pursed "I didn't wanna say it like that." Lance’s breath hitches in his chest. He knows exactly what Keith means, even without him having to clarify. The thought of it would usually make his heart do cartwheels, but...he’s feeling brave today.

"So say it now." He says, holding Keith’s gaze. Keith takes in a sharp breath, then his eyes harden, determined, and he lifts his chin, looking Lance in the eye.

“I love you.” He says, and despite the intensity of his expression, the words come out soft. His voice breaks slightly on the last syllable, like he didn’t quite have enough resolve to say the whole thing─for some reason, it’s more endearing than anything else.

Lance, still running on adrenaline-like confidence, grabs Keith by the shoulders and drags him in, swallowing the small gasps of surprise he lets out with the press of his lips to Keith’s. It seems to take a moment for Keith to realize what’s happening, then he relaxes, his body sagging against Lance’s. He kisses back sloppily, unpracticed, and Lance lets his hands slide up, one tangling in his hair and one cupping his cheek, guiding his movements.

“I love you,” Keith gasps into his mouth when they break apart for air. “I─mmh.” He starts to repeat, cut off when Lance kisses him again. Lance knits both hands into his hair, pressing him closer still. After a long moment, he pulls back to breathe again, panting.

“I love you, too.” He murmurs against Keith’s lips, smiling at the dark red blush pooling over the other boy’s cheeks. “God, I love you so much, Keith.” He dips his head down, sealing their lips together again, but this time the kisses are lazier, more lingering. Keith’s lips start to catch the corner of his mouth, drifting down to his jawline, and Lance tips his head to the side, more than willing to give him room to work.

“Leandro.” Keith murmurs, pressing a kiss to a spot under his ear that makes Lance shiver.

“Mmmyeah?” Lance manages, his head fuzzy and distracted with the way Keith presses kisses down his neck.

“I may love you,” he says, voice low. “But you have a ten second head start before I kick your ass for pretending to forget about the bonding moment." Lance blinks.

“Haha, what?” He says, pulling back slightly. Keith’s eyes spark with determination. 

“Ten.” He says, deadly serious. Lance pales, quickly snapping out of his daze and sprinting out of the room, because if he knows anything about Keith, he knows that he doesn’t fucking mess around.

But even as he’s running, the distant sound of Keith’s laughter─not even malicious, just genuinely, whole-heartedly  _ happy─ _ puts a smile on his face.

He’s really gone for this boy, isn’t he?

Somehow, he doesn’t have a problem with that.

**Author's Note:**

> [rb on tumblr](http://killproof.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing) if you liked this and thanks for readin my bullshit


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